A Conversation About Beauty
by kirby russell
Summary: “Now, now, Jane. No one in this room can claim great beauty, yet how could we know that if we did not hold ourselves to some standard? Come now, your thoughts.”


disclaimer: not mine.

A conversation about beauty.

"Miss Eyre!"

"Sir?"

"I am in the throws of discontent. Do a service to your master and keep him company while he contemplates."

"Discontent, sir?" She fell into step with him and followed into the library.

"Yes Jane. I cannot help these morose moods any more than Adèle can help being selfish." She could not help but flush at her given name. Ducking her head, she turned her gaze to the bookshelf.

"Come, sit," he said. "You make me nervous when you stand." He motioned for her to sit, and poured her a glass of sherry.

"Sir, I don't—"

"If you are to keep me company, you cannot be so stoic. This will do you much good." Rochester handed her the glass, heavy with the drink. She took a sip obediantly.

"Well?" he asked, a timbre of nervousness in his tone.

"If you wished to choke me, sir, you could have done so with much simpler means." Jane allowed a small smile to flitter across her lips as she met his unfathomable eyes.

"Ha! What an answer, my little bird." He threw himself into the seat across from her, seemingly satisfied. Emboldened by his pet name, she took another tentative sip—the taste it left in the back of her mouth was almost nice.

"I wonder…"

"Yes, sir?"

"I wonder, Jane, what thoughts fly through that head of yours."

"Many thoughts, sir, on many subjects. What passes through your mind tonight?" Another sip of sherry to rid herself of her suddenly dry throat.

"I ponder beauty in all its forms," he said with no small relish.

"Beauty, sir?"

"Yes, girl, beauty. Must you repeat everything like some half-deaf parrot?" The Master was in a mood today, it seemed. He sighed immediately.

"I apologize. Pray let my acerbic tongue not halt your thoughts. I truly wish to know what you think." 'That is well and good,' she thought. 'If only I knew what I thought on the subject.'

"I am too plain to know anything of beauty, as well you know," she said, trying to keep any resentment out of her voice. He tilted his head at that.

"Now, now, Jane. No one in this room can claim great beauty, yet how could we know that if we did not hold ourselves to some standard? Come now, your thoughts."

"Beauty is a strange mixture of ideals, sir," she said, praying he did not ask for elaboration.

"Ideals, eh? By which you mean no one could ever hope to achieve them, I suppose. Ah, little Jane, how wrong you are there! Your innocent eyes may still be blind to the sight, but those of unheard beauty lurk in the shadows, waiting to seduce men from their intended path."

"And what of men seducing women, sir?" she could not help but ask. "Do you not think men can also lure women from their…" she stumbled over the words, "…their purity?" He laughed at that, a dark sound that resonated deep in her as if a rumble from an enormous, tired lion. Jane strained not to close her eyes and revel in the vibrations.

"We both know it's too true, if only because of the scandalous rumors trickling down from London. Yet men need not be handsome to seduce women, do they Jane?" Perhaps it was the sherry he'd given her, but somehow she found herself saying,

"You did not need beauty, did you sir, to gain the hearts of those whom you have seduced?" She heard her voice but could not stop it. "Yet many a heart bear your name, and are weighed heavy with love for you." A deep, shaky breath and her traitorous words finally stopped. Oh lord, she could not breathe. He would become furious, throw his glass across the room, send her away, she would never see him agai—

"Jane?" Her head shot up at the foreign sound, not believing her master could sound so timid. The air grew impenetrable, the silence licked by flame, and his eyes bore through her face right through to her very heart. And yet, somewhere behind the inscrutable mask she sensed…

He stood and held out his hand. Tentatively, she took it, and he helped her to her feet. His fingers wrapped warmth around her tiny palm. Though she moved to go, he did not release her. Instead, he stood, staring, his head moving slowly towards hers. Finally, when her nervous heart could bear it no longer, she slowly took a step back. As if from a trance, he dropped her hand suddenly.

"Leave me, Janet," he said, and turned from her swiftly. Lost, torn, Jane did as she was told.


End file.
